


Strip

by coeurastronaute



Category: The 100
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coeurastronaute/pseuds/coeurastronaute
Summary: “haha that student looks a lot like the girl i was hired to strip for last week oh wait” teacher’s aid au





	1. Chapter 1

“Go ahead, all the way back,” a voice accompanied the hand that tilted the shot glass so that there was no other alternative but to drink the rest. “That’s my girl. Taught her well.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink so much!” 

“Another round!” 

The voices all grew in direct correlation to both the amount of alcohol consumed and the volume in the club. The entire world was spinning, and all Lexa could do was stare at the accumulating amount of glasses on the small table in the back of the bar. 

“Happy birthday, little sis!” Anya cheered, handing out the next round. 

Wide-eyed and happy, Lexa leaned back and mooned over the love surrounding her at the table. All there because of her, for her. Sometimes it was a lot to realize. 

“Look at her, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself,” Lincoln laughed before downing the most recent addition. 

“Remember that party, junior year?” Bellamy chuckled as he sipped his beer. “She got so blazed she couldn’t speak.” 

“Leave her alone,” Anya shook her head. “It’s her birthday.” 

“I’m just saying. She’s had the same bottle of scotch in her office for two years, and has had once drink from it. She’s going to be dead if you order another round.” 

“What about that conference in Omaha?” Lincoln added to the embarrassing stories. “History nerds who can’t hold their liquor.” 

“In high school, I took her to a party and she got sloppy, I lost her for three hours, and found her crying in the pet aisle at a grocery store because we didn’t have a puppy.” 

The entire table erupted and Lexa rolled her eyes before adjusting the stupid birthday hat her sister got for the entire table. The truth was that she was well on her way to being more drunk than any of those stories combined because her friends insisted on dragging her out on her birthday, because she assumed it meant a nice dinner and maybe a round at their favorite bar next to campus. 

But no. 

She should have known when her sister appeared in the doorway to her office while a student was bemoaning a bad grade on a research paper that trouble was brewing. She could tell from the look, from the smirk, but she had not anticipated this kind of trouble. 

By the time dinner was over, and they stopped out in front of the strip club, everyone else was on board, and even though it was her birthday, Lexa went along with it, thus leading to the problem of drinking. Drinking made it easier, made her ears not burn up in flustered embarrassment every time she looked up and caught sight of a pretty girl moving around. 

It wasn’t that she was a prude. Except that she kind of was, though that wasn’t exactly fair. She was cautious. She was prim. She was unaccustomed to naked women in every direction. 

“I think it’s my job to do this properly,” Bellamy cleared his throat and lifted a bottle. “To one of the smartest people I know, who has kicked my ass every day, and who will, undoubtedly hit tenure before me.” 

“To the absolutely only reason I survived this long,” Lincoln raised his as well.

“To my partner in crime,” Anya followed suit. “Happy birthday, Lexa!” 

The festivities commenced, or continued. Lexa tried to relax, but it was difficult because she was so suddenly aware of where she was, and she was not accustomed to such things. Her sister only dragged her out because Lexa was notorious for spending too much time in the library, too much times stuck in giant books learning dead languages. She was suddenly aware of what it meant to be alive. 

It got worse when she met the blue eyes walking through the crowd as she followed everyone towards the stage. And she took her seat and smiled and nodded and ignored her friends and continued to stare at the girl who wove around, dropping drinks off and flirting with a table of business men. Lexa was too distracted with her shorts, with her legs, with her hips, with her…

It was a few times she thought that they made eye contact, and when she did, she wanted to look away, but couldn’t. She nursed her beer and she occasionally looked back and listened to her friends, but mostly she watched the girl. Watched someone slip bill into the lace around her hip, watched her smile and laugh and earn another. 

Longer than she would admit, Lexa sat back, deep in the chair, toyed with the bottle and watched. The liquor made her weak and made her unabashed, which was also a new personality trait she would not normally assign to herself. 

Somehow, by some gracious and loving god who decided that for just one second, Lexa deserved a little bit of something, the girl approached. Unfortunately, like some Greek myth, it was nothing but torture for the birthday girl. 

“Can I get you something, gorgeous?” Leaning down, close to the girl in the chair, she smiled and watched her shake her head. “I’m Clarke. And you are?” There was no answer, just wide eyes. “The birthday girl?” 

There was something different about this one, something intense and something that made the world shift slightly, like walking along and the ground wasn’t quite as sturdy as she remembered. 

 

The tequila made her tongue feel too big for her mouth, made it feel as if she couldn’t speak at all, as if she was so thirsty she would have to give up her entire life and devote it to drinking. The tequila and the girl who was standing in front of her with not much on in terms of close. The tequila and the fact that she was suddenly unable to breathe and incapable of hiding it.

“I like your hat,” the dancer said with an honest smile, as if she meant every word and not at all ironically or sarcastically.

Lexa swallowed roughly. She wanted to look around and she wanted to ask for help, but she was stuck and drunk and oddly sober. The blonde moved between her legs and took a seat on her lap, making her sit up a bit straighter.

“Is it really your birthday?” 

The professor nodded.

Her skin was warm and everything was so loud around them. The only thing Lexa heard was her words though, when she leaned closer and said them next to her ear.

“The strong, silent type, huh?”

Clarke liked the girl in the chair, who, for some reason, was remarkably charming in her dumbstruck state. Her eyes were deep and voracious. She wasn’t rowdy like the rest, and she wasn’t creepy like others. She seemed especially normal and incredibly dedicated to watching Clarke. 

As if she were deciding something, the dancer searched this girl’s face and even in the off-colour lights of the club, could see the blush, could see the nervousness, could see that the slope of her jaw and nose and cheeks were exquisite.

“First time?” another nod.

Lexa tugged on her shirt’s collar and cleared her throat again, hoping that words would come, that somehow the disconnection between her brain and mouth would suddenly fix itself and she could not look like an idiot. But she had no such luck.

“Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private?”

Another nod, and the dancer just smiled. The rest of the group was distracted at the stage with the show, so she stood and held the girl’s hand, leading her like a puppy on a leash through the crowd in the back towards the rooms on the side of the club.

The hallway was quiet, and Lexa could hear the thumping blood in her ears. She tried not to, and she’d blame the drink, but she eyed the curves and the skin and the blonde and wondered if she was dead, because surely heaven must open up in a similar way, and if so, she was ready to become a nun.

The dancer wasn’t sure what made her offer the privacy. She was certain that she very much liked the glasses and the length of neck, and for the first time ever, she wanted to touch a client. 

“Let me guess. Your friends brought you here for your birthday, and you’re more of the mini golf type?” 

Carefully, she directed the puppy to the chair in the middle of the room. She ran her hand along the broad shoulders as she moved around the back of it. The bar was stocked, and she decided she needed a bit of bravery to help, because suddenly it was different. 

“You never told me your name.” She drank and switched to a different bottle. She poured and handed it to the girl in the chair who just watched with rapt attention. “Drink, gorgeous.” 

Tentatively, Lexa brought the glass to her lips and enjoyed the familiar burn of whiskey, a much more welcome relief than the tequila her sister liked to make everyone enjoy. Clarke took the distraction as opportunity to straddle the girl in the chair. They looked at each other, the liquor feeling heavy on their skin. All Lexa could think about was the way Clarke smelled like honeydew. Or maybe it was something else. Something sweet and something addicting. 

“Lexa,” she finally mumbled before looking away and finishing the drink. 

“Lexa,” Clarke nodded and smiled softly. “That’s a nice name. A nice voice too. I was afraid you didn’t have one.” She ran her hand through Lexa’s hair, lingering around her temple. 

“Sorry. I just… I don’t think anyone so beautiful has ever been so close to me.” 

There was a turn, a way her face softened, but Lexa hated that she said it, despite the reaction. She wanted to look at her lips, but instead she settled for the dip in her collarbone. 

Clarke took the glass and placed it on the ground before running her hands up the girl’s chest and towards her neck. 

“You can touch me.” 

“I, uh,” Lexa gulped and pressed her glasses up on her nose. “I don’t…. I’ve never. Obviously I’ve never… I don’t know what to do. I’ve never paid for…” 

With another amused smile, the dancer took Lexa’s hands and placed them on her own hips. She unbuttoned one of the girl’s buttons now that the weight of palms were on her body. 

“I want you to touch me.” Low and raspy, Lexa hung on those words and nodded. 

“Because I’m… money. Because my sister?” 

“I always discuss prices up front. We didn’t talk about anything like that, did we?” Lexa shook her head. Clarke nodded and ran her hands along shoulders again. “I have a soft spot for pretty girls on their birthdays.” Playfully, she took the hat from the birthday girl and slipped it on. “How do I look? Festive?” 

“It looks much better on you.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Clarke chuckled at the earnestness. “How can you be so tense with a half-naked girl in a birthday hat on your lap?” 

“When she looks like this,” Lexa snorted, watching as the hat was tossed to the side, forgotten once more. 

“You’re really being a problem tonight.” 

“I’m sorry.” Quickly hands retracted and Lexa tried to sit up a bit straighter. “I didn’t mean to do–”

“No no,” she calmed, taking hands and putting them back on her hips. “I’ve had people look at me. It’s my job to be looked at.” Hips moved slightly, back arched. It was slow and deliberate. “I haven’t ever had anyone look at me like you’re looking at me.” 

“How’s that?” 

The movements started.

“Like they’d break me.” Clarke made a fatal mistake in that moment, when Lexa looked at her like that and she couldn’t help it. When she leaned forward and pressed herself against her, when she clung to her tighter and moved her hips a little hard. “Like I’m the only thing that’s ever existed.” She pressed her cheek against Lexa’s, let her lips hit earlobe. “Where did you come from?” 

The hands dug into the hips they were holding and Lexa shivered, her eyes closing and rolling back uncontrollably. Her entire body throbbed. 

“Happy birthday, Lexa,” Clarke cooed, pulling away slightly. Her hands slipped under Lexa’s shirt and played with the bit of skin there, running along her ribs. “Be a good girl and let me take care of you.” 

“You-you-you. I… why?” 

“Rarely do I get to use my powers for good.” 

It was the smirk that did it. Leaning her forehead against Lexa’s, Clarke watched her give in, as she knew she would. The beat from outside could be heard and slowly, in the quiet, in the light music, she began to move, began to flex her hips in ways that Lexa could only look down and watch and try to memorize like her own address or name. 

So distracting and amazing were the movements, that Lexa, for a good portion of time, forgot that she had hands, and not fully grasping the contradiction of the rules she assumed to be self-evident and the directives given my the girl in her lap, failed to use them. Until she remembered them. 

Reservedly, she ran them along Clarke’s stomach, let them glide back down, grab her ass, hold her tightly. 

“I have an eye,” Clarke whispered, closing her eyes and allowing Lexa to let her hands roam over her chest. “The quiet ones, always the best lays.” 

“Is that… we’re… I don’t pay…” 

“I’m not a prostitute,” she laughed. “I just mean. Your hands. Your eyes. I bet you’re an intense lover.” 

Cautiously, Clarke ran her fingertips along Lexa’s jaw, ran them over her cheekbones, ran them over the pronounced furrow forming. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” 

The furrow in her brow only grew as Lexa watched her hands move. She didn’t notice Clarke’s victorious smile until her hands were grabbed and placed on her own knees. She grew worried as Clarke stood, but was rewarded with her own legs being nudged open. 

If she thought she made it to heaven before, she was certainly uncertain what level of paradise this was, but all she could think of was that strip clubs were by far, the absolute greatest places on the planet and however invented them should have a Nobel. Or the McArthur Genius Grant or something. 

“I… you don’t have to… We… Um,” Lexa stumbled and shook her head, no longer convinced that it was the alcohol that was making her dizzy. 

Clarke leaned over and placed her hands on Lexa’s thighs. Lexa watched the way the cleavage formed and gulped, almost hoping something would kill her, almost certain she was about to die. 

“Just relax,” Clarke whispered, hovering her lips near Lexa’s. “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself.” 

With a nod and Lexa’s complete conversion to the whipped status, Clarke turned around felt hands tentatively move up her thighs. She smiled and sat down in Lexa’s lap, arching and grinding into her. 

“Fuck,” Lexa whimpered. It only spurred Clarke harder. 

Lexa was certain that she’d never watched hips move like that. She was certain she never saw anything so great as a girl in skimpy clothes grinding against her. She was certain her entire body had turned into a nerve and every touch hurt and burned and felt so delicious she wanted to be smothered. 

The music was softer, was outside, but still, Lexa could only hear her own breathing. Her hips bucked accidentally, and Clarke leaned back. The birthday girl’s lips hovered near her shoulder before pulling back before touching, until the temptation was gone as Clarke bent over, providing more of a show. 

“I like your… these,” Lexa slipped her fingers into the lace. “Your sock suspenders.” 

“You’re too pretty to talk,” Clarke smiled, turning to straddle her once again, lacing her fingers with the back of the chair. 

She never stopped moving, Her hips dug into Lexa, her back arched. 

“I’m a profes-”

“Shh,” the dancer silenced her with proximity. She ran her hand through Lexa’s hair, gripped it, tugged her, danced with her. 

The grinding only made Lexa clench her thighs together and convince herself that this was no heaven, but surely the worst kind of hell. 

“You like that?” 

“Yeah,” Lexa nodded, lying through her teeth. She loved it. And it hurt. 

“I’m not done yet,” Clarke whispered, biting earlobe and earning a growl. When she pulled away she watched Lexa’s face, watched her eyes grow dark and needy. She stilled long enough to take off the glasses and slip them in the front shirt pocket. “A little more?” 

“Please?” 

Face to face with the lace covering Clarke’s chest, Lexa suddenly wanted to be smothered, and so when Clarke pulled her closer, she was ready to sacrifice herself to it. 

“Mmm,” Clarke hummed, enjoy the friction, enjoying the heat, the hands. “Fuck.” 

Normally, she would never allow it, but normally she wouldn’t go to a private room without payment. This was far from a normal night. And when Lexa couldn’t take it any longer, when Clarke was ready to explode from the way Lexa moved almost with her, almost accidentally, she lifted the dancer in a rush, in one fell swoop, pinning her against the wall. 

Before she could register even a gasp, Clarke felt lips on her neck, and lips on her lips in the best kind of kiss she could imagine until it disappeared. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Lexa shook her head and pulled away until the dancer was left on her feet. 

Clarke smiled and grabbed at Lexa once again, switching their spot and pinning her against the wall. 

“Enjoy yourself,” the dancer whispered. “Like I said. Intense.” 

Once more, she toyed with her. Clarke moved around in front of her, played with her, moved her hips and bent over, felt Lexa’s hand run up her spine, felt her lips between her shoulder blades as she stood up once again. The kiss played over and over again, and it took Clarke a moment to calm down from it. Lexa, even with her eyes closed, felt every movement, felt Clarke tilt her head, took it as an invitation to kiss her there, and so she greedily took it. 

“Happy birthday,” Clarke whispered once more. 

“Best birthday,” Lexa agreed, letting her head lull back against the wall as Clarke stilled against her. 

Still pressed there, she wanted to remember that feeling. 

“Not bad for your first lap dance.” 

“Agreed.” 

Breathless and needy, Clarke had a line she couldn’t cross, as much as Lexa suddenly appeared and almost made her. As difficult was it was, she took a step away and refused to turn around. 

“Go see your friends.” 

“Okay.” 

“See you around, Lexa.” 

“Okay,” she nodded weakly, in a fog, dazed and placid and aching.

As soon as the door closed, Clarke flopped into the chair and fanned herself slightly before touching her fingertips to the burning spot where Lexa’s lips had been on her neck and letting her head fall back with a groan.

* * *

The office on the twelfth floor was a lonesome state. The elevator only went to the ninth, and the hall was always muggy and stuffy, but the office at the end of the hall had her name on the door, and Lexa didn’t want it any other way. She liked the solitude, like her wall filled with books and the big, ancient desk that had enough room for all of her notes and thoughts and things. 

The old window a/c unit hummed along, dripped onto the will. The fan on the desk whirred around and made itself known as it ruffled the papers that were held under various items. 

It was quiet, there. And the warmth of the summer along with the breeze and the absolute tedium of grading the final round of summer semester papers, all of it rolled together to make the professor crave nothing more than a lazy kind of nap. 

The old leather chair creaked as she leaned back and put her feet up, red pen tucked in her lips as she ran her hand along her neck at the bit of sweat that started to settle there. She pushed up a sleeve and sighed as the fan made its way back to her finally. 

For a second, her mind drifted to the foggy remnants of her birthday night snuck into her thoughts. It was a quiet kind of memory that lingered when she wasn’t actually stifling it. 

“Are they getting dumber?” Bellamy barged in, not even bothering to knock. Lexa’s feet fell to the ground and she dropped her pen, flustered with the thoughts and not sure what exactly she read for the past few minutes. 

Hurriedly, she picked up the pen and sat up a bit straighter and cleared her throat. 

“Why do we subject ourselves to this nonsense? Freshmen are the worst.” 

“Because we’re the bottom of the totem pole. By all means.” Bellamy flopped down in one of the chairs across from her desk. 

“I don’t think my last paper knew there was a difference between Romans and Greeks.” 

“Is there really?” Lexa teased, earning a glare as her friend picked up the autographed baseball that sat on the edge of her desk and began rolling it between his palms. 

“My sister said there’s a party we should check out.”

“Your sister’s a junior.”

“Yeah… and…” 

“We’re professors. We can barely tolerate these papers, let alone actually communicate with students in their natural environment.” 

“I know. I’m just so bored.” 

“Did you submit your abstract?”

“I will.” 

“This is why I get the big office.” 

“Excuse me for choosing the luxury of the second floor as opposed to the penthouse storage. Want to go grab lunch?” 

“I have a meeting.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“No, really,” Lexa chuckled. “How about dinner. Anya’s coming into town in a few hours.” 

“I know.” 

“Of course you do.” 

Guilty and proud, he rolls his eyes and puts the ball back in its proper space before Lexa reaches forward, standing up to stretch across the length of the desk, to sit it properly. 

“You should come out for drinks with us after dinner.” 

“Third wheel my sister and co-worker’s date? I’ll pass. I just got the new biography of Martin Van Buren.”

“Make up something a little more spicy so your sister doesn’t drag you out,” he murmured, standing and wheeling back towards the door. 

“Not many things more spicy than the Van Buren presidency,” Lexa called, putting her feet up once again. 

“Oh, my friend,” he stopped and hung on the door. “You have so much to learn, and I am very glad your sister has already learned them.” 

“Okay, gross. Thanks!” she yelled as the door closed behind him. “I’ll have you know I’m plenty… spicy!” 

With a sigh and a furrow, Lexa thought about that statement and her own inability to complete the thought honestly. She stared blankly at the paper and fiddled with the cap to her red pen, contradicting her entire argument. 

“I think the word I used was intense,” a familiar voice interjected, making Lexa’s eyes snap to the door. 

With a thud, her feet fell to the ground and she swivelled around, unable to control it. She pushed her glasses up again and popped the top from the pen so that it skittered across the floor, lost to the abyss beneath her desk. 

“Um. Uh,” Lexa stammered, suddenly face to face with the girl who gave her the greatest birthday gift of all time. 

Blonde hair was wavy and pretty and looked like summer. Shorts let free the secret of beautiful long legs. Even clothed, Lexa knew this girl was out of her league. 

Gone was the bravery and bluster of their first encounter. Instead, Clarke adjusted the bag on her shoulder and smiled, amused at the situation she presently found herself. 

“You’re Dr. Woods?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re the professor of Early US History that I have an appointment with to discuss imagery in the revolution?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re the girl I gave a private dance to a few weeks ago on her birthday.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, this is… yeah,” Clarke nodded and sighed. “One of the more awkward meetings I’ve ever had in my life.” 

Both were stuck on opposite sides of the long office. Both, equally confronted with memories from their first meeting. 

“Still the strong, silent time,” the dancer nodded. “Is this going to be weird? I can find another professor, I’m sure.”

“No!” the professor yelped, startling herself slightly as she stood. “I mean. It’s not. I’m just… surprised. It’s not. I’m very good at my job.”

The nerves showed as neither could bring themselves to move again. Lexa stared at the queer kind of smile that quirked at the corners of Clarke’s lips and gulped because one dimple showed and it was more than enough to ruin her.

“I swear I didn’t know it was you,” Clarke finally breathed, easing slightly.

“I didn’t know it was you either, Ms. Griffin,” Lexa tried, offering one of the chairs across from her desk before sitting behind it, hoping the distance of the big desk would be enough of a deterrent for her terrible thoughts.

“It’s Ms. Griffin now?”

“It is.”

“When I was working, it was just Clarke and Lexa. Or do you prefer Professor?”

“This can be informal, if you’d like,” she shrugged. “I didn’t want to… I don’t want… I couldn’t be presumptive enough to think…”

“Easy there, tiger. Don’t worry. Clarke is fine.” As she settled in the seat and took a notebook from her bag before placing it on the floor, she chanced a look at the frazzled, though attempting to hide it, professor behind the desk. “I’m not going to tell.”

“It wasn’t… I didn’t…” she cleared her throat and rubbed the back of her neck before tossing the capless pen onto the desk. The blush burned deeper than the utensil. “You’re here to talk about The Revolution?”

“Okay, so we’re going to ignore the elephant in the room?” Clarke chuckled slightly.

“God, I hope so,” Lexa confessed, heaving a sigh that made her feel lighter with the honesty.

“I can work with that.” She opened the notebook. “I am doing a graphic novel in the vein of a photojournalist-like reporting but on a time period I obviously didn’t exist in. You wrote a paper on cartoons and political imagery pre-Republic.”

“You read my paper?” 

“Of course.”

When they started talking about history, Lexa felt safe. She was safer there, in her place where she knew things and could answer questions. To her credit, Clarke was all professional, leaning forward to write on the desk, she hovered over books Lexa pulled down from her shelves, jotted her own notes. She was struck by how much Lexa became animated and alive when she spoke about the subject, and when she thought deeply about the subjects. There was no more stuttering or blushing, there were no more nerves or anxious pauses. Instead, a polished, articulate professor emerged with a hint of confidence and knowledge that made her irresistible.

To her own credit, Lexa was good at faking it. She could distract herself with thoughts, and with how professional Clarke conducted herself, how merciful she was for not bringing anything up, and yet, moments would slip in when Lexa felt her heart deafening her ears. It bumped and thumped and all but tried to escape through her mouth at some points.

“You can take those,” Lexa offered, stacking a few books. “Borrow them. I’m teaching the first few presidents Fall semester and won’t need these too much.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded. “If you promise to let me see the final project.”

“I think that’s only fair, you know, as a source and all. I think it’s called an historical advisor.”

“I like that,” Lexa smiled to herself and nodded at the title.

“You could just ask me out, you know,” Clarke shouldered her bag as she grabbed the stack Lexa prepared.

“I… shou… what?” she squinted up her face and cocked her head and Clarke saw nothing but lost puppy. It made her chuckle. 

“Normally, a girl gives you a,” Clarke leaned across the desk slightly, “private dance for free, you probably have a chance. Ask me how often it happens?” 

“I don’t–”

“Never.” 

“What do… I don’t…” Lexa adjusted her glasses and furrowed, incapable of finding her mouth. 

“I thought maybe this was all because of drinking or your first time, but you’re genuinely– what was the word you used? Spicy.” 

Innately disappoint in herself, Clarke’s observation made her cheeks flush completely red. Her entire chest felt tingly and the sting of embarrassment hung heavy in her blood, but still, when she looked up, the blonde was waiting, almost expectantly. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke finally relented. “I’m not usually forward. I just…” she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Still, Lexa was quiet, holding her breath and completely quiet. The artist smiled and looked down before nodding. 

“I’ll bring these back soon.” 

Still, Lexa didn’t move, but stared at the desk and wished she could find a way to turn into a puddle and drip through the floor and disappear forever. 

“Thanks. I’m sorry again,” Clarke mumbled, turning awkward, turning unsure of herself, allowing a hundred thoughts of doubt to gang up on her brazen attempt at what she thought was an actual connection. 

She made it to the door before a noise stopped her. 

“Doyouwanttohavedinnerwithme?” it came out louder than she anticipated, but Lexa yelped the words so that they became a single thought. 

“What?’ 

“Dinner. With me. Tonight? Because if not tonight, I’ll lose my nerve, and I’ll think about it too much. I didn’t not ask because of… how we met,” she ran her hand over the back of her neck and still stared at the desk, though her eyes risked moving closer towards Clarke. “I… how am I supposed to ask… you? I mean look at you! And I know, believe me, I know how insanely inappropriate it is that right now all I can think about is both, at the same time, what you felt like in my lap and how absolutely amazing it is that you liked my joke about George Mason, or at least pretended to like it, which also makes you kind. But I’m thinking both things, and you are… you’re you. Which is not a bad thing. Not at all. It’s a great thing, and not about the whole… thing you do, thing. It’s just. You.” 

The words came, and Lexa was oddly struck by how, for as much as she’d wished they would come, when they did she was less relieved and more absolutely appalled by them. But there they were, out and running around, filling up the room, and she never wanted to speak again. 

“Those were a lot of things,” Clarke finally nodded as she carefully parsed the novel that erupted. 

“Yeah.” 

“Tonight then.” 

“Yeah?” 

“We can talk about only history stuff if it helps.” 

“Yeah.” 

She juggled the books and met Lexa’s eyes, smiling to put her at ease. Before she could allow the professor to reconsider, she walked back across the office and picked up the red pen among the pile. 

“I’ll take care of dinner. Just meet me here. Can you do that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Try to relax.” 

“Okay.” 

“Eight o’clock.” 

“Okay.” 

With a smile Clarke turned around only slightly to wave before leaving.

* * *

At first, she was unsure of the location, and then the nerves came and all but broke her completely. A frantic mess, Lexa spent more time looking in the mirror than ever before, and she spent too much time going through her wardrobe, shamefully aware that it had been way too long since she’d last done this. 

Antsy as she was, she sat on the bench beside the fountain in the middle of campus and fidgeted. The sky was that summer pink that just refused to turn to night, and the bugs were wailing the melodies of the thick heat in evening. Lexa pushed the glasses up on her nose and sighed, running her hands over her knees anxiously. 

“You showed up,” Clarke approached, startling the girl on the bench. “I almost thought you wouldn’t.” 

The summer dress cut low and absolutely stunning hung on the blonde, and Lexa stood up too quickly, quite certain that she was now dizzy because of it. The heat made her mouth thick, but Lexa smiled anyway when confronted with the smiles and the loose bit of hair that Clarke pushed to the side with a sigh. 

“Why?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“You look… you look very pretty.” 

“You’re cute,” Clarke smiled, hugging Lexa wit one arm while the other held a basket of their dinner. “Do you like this spot? It’s one of my favorite places.” 

“I haven’t spent much time on campus. I mean. I like my office. And when I go out, students bother me.” 

“You don’t mind? I didn’t plan anything. I picked up all kinds of Chinese food and some wine. It’s so nice out.” 

“Not at all,” Lexa nodded quite seriously. 

“Alright, good. Because it’s been a while since I’ve been on a proper date, and I was really nervous.” 

“A while?” 

“A while.” 

“Me too.” 

“Perfect. Here,” Clarke pulled out a bottle of wine and handed it to her date. “I splurged for the most expensive twist-off cap because I know how to romance a lady.” 

“So…” Lexa swallowed and twisted, watching as paper cups emerged from the basket. “How do we do this? This whole… date thing?” 

“Wine, dinner, conversation, attempting to ignore the whole scantily clad meeting thing.” 

“Fat chance,” the professor mumbled, gritting her teeth as she opened the bottle. 

It made her date smile, and Lexa blushed the color of the sky when she heard it, but still, it filled her up with a little bit of bravery. 

The night was perfect. The fountain spilled, and the lights clicked on while the sun was still lingering. The two on the bench didn’t move, not at all, not when people walked by and saw them laughing. 

Clarke liked how Lexa was layered, was a maze that had to be navigated while being increasingly charming without truly meaning to be. Lexa was dry, was not alarmingly funny, but she was this unassuming kind of earnest that was a new kind of honest most people didn’t possess. 

“You never asked why,” Clarke hummed, sitting back.

“Why the Revolution? The graphic novel?” 

“You know what I’m talking about.” 

The containers of food collected on the ground beneath them. The bottle of wine dwindled and finished as Clarke tipped it into Lexa’s cup after topping off her own. 

The truth of it was, Lexa never considered it. So wrapped up in the girl who spoke with her hands painting the air itself with images, so distracted by the way she hogged the noodles, so entranced by the sight of dimples and crinkling nose, that Lexa did not care one bit about anything at all other than who this girl was at this moment. 

“You never asked why I’m a professor,” Lexa shrugged.

“Because you’re a history nerd. That’s easy.” 

“True,” Lexa smiled and sipped her refilled cup. 

“Why are you a professor?” 

“I don’t know. I just like books. I like what happened, and I like that hindsight is 20/20. Its much better than foresight. I have none of that.” 

“I appreciate that you haven’t asked. That’s you’ve treated me normal.”

“You are normal.” 

“I know… but there’s also…” 

“Yeah,” Lexa nodded, vividly remembering the also. “But you’re you. That’s kind of all I need to know.” 

She wasn’t sure what she said, but whatever it was, Lexa would say it again. And so when Clarke smiled and leaned forward and kissed her, Lexa kept her eyes open for a minute, saw it coming. It didn’t help. Clarke approached slowly, watched Lexa’s lips, ran her hand along her cheek and pulled her slightly before their lips touched. 

It was timid, not as blatant or needy as the dirty make out in the private room. But it was gentle, and it was real, and it was good, so good that Lexa’s eyes closed and she leaned into it. 

“Alright, now that that’s out of the way,” Clarke hummed. 

The words weren’t out of her mouth before Lexa leaned back towards her and kissed her breathless again. She did it because she wanted to, and it was something that needed to be done. 

“Yeah, intense,” she nodded, pulling away slightly.

* * *

“Never,” Lexa smiled, head lulling back against the door. 

“You mean to tell me,” Clarke threw over her shoulder, “You’ve never brought a girl you met in a strip club back to your office after a date?” 

“Never.” 

“I’m just a bartender, did you know that?” 

“I’m just a professor.” 

She almost forgot the task at hand, but their search for the leftover whiskey was remembered when she watched Clarke stand in the middle of the office. Hair tied up against the heat, a wisp of it fell in the center of her bare back. 

“I mean, I don’t normally do what I did. I wanted to see if I could.” 

“Fooled me.” 

Clarke clicked on the light on the desk, filling the room with a quiet kind of brightness that remained warm in the summer heat. 

“I’m not a student either. I mean, I am,” she relented, leaning against the front of the desk as she stared at the professor who closed the door. “I’m not your student.” 

“I know.” 

“I was a student. I took time off.”

“Okay,” Lexa nodded, taking a step until she found the whiskey. 

“I was going to be a doctor.” 

“You don’t have to tell me…” 

“This is a date,” Clarke decided. “We tell each other things on a date.” 

“Do you want a drink?” 

“Please.” 

“You don’t have to tell me things,” Lexa murmured as she poured. “I mean. I’m not… Can you believe that the shortest war ever lasted just thirty-eight minutes?” 

“That’s all?” 

“I’ve always wondered if it is even fair to call it a war. But what a war, right? I mean. That’s important.”

Clarke took the drink and watched Lexa think before taking a drink. She followed suit and watched as Lexa put the glass down on the desk, and she did the same. 

She wasn’t sure why did it, but Clarke tugged on Lexa’s hips and pulled her closer. 

“There are better ways to spend thirty-eight minutes than at war.” 

Lexa let her hands go to Clarke’s hips, pinned her there before lifting her to the desk. 

“I don’t care what you do, or what you did,” Lexa decided. “I kind of just really am liking spending time with you.” 

“Whiskey makes you spicy.” 

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” she sighed. 

Clarke played with Lexa’s ribs, like the heavy feeling of fabric of in the heat of the night, sagging into palms. 

“Do you want to go out again sometime?” Lexa asked. 

“I want to finish what we started at the club,” Clarke answered honestly. “Maybe go to a little war.” 

“We can go to my place… it’s just–” 

Clarke’s hands moved to the hem of the dress where she lifted it slightly, higher on her thighs. 

“Shot’s fired,” Lexa swallowed.


	2. Chapter 2

The sunshine had never been more cheerful or beautiful. The earth was signing, the clouds were dancing, the universe itself was a spring afternoon, perfectly tempered and happily tinged with the makings of a great mood. The campus throbbed to life, pulsating like a heart, crackling with sparklers beneath the sidewalks, soaked in an invisible, upbeat tempo that refused to be slowed or stopped.

Strolling across the green, Lexa found herself taking the long way to her office. Awake and hopping out of bed, she was early enough to beat the rush at her favorite coffee cart, and she found herself taking her time meandering across the way in the melodic spring morning, a smile plastered permanently on her face, a hum surgically latched into her lungs. She greeted students and whistled a tune that was stuck in her head. She held the elevator for the secretary and skipped up the last few floors to her office.

The first class of the day got an extra day on their online quiz, while the second got an extension on a paper. By the time lunch rolled around, Lexa was earning quizzical looks from students who stopped by during office hours. Not notoriously the easiest professor in the department, the shift in leniency was noted and not questioned for fear of losing it.

“Hey, did you send in for that conference in Montreal?” Bellamy asked as he poked his head into the office at the top of the building. “When is the due date?”

“I turned it in last Thursday,” Lexa rolled her eyes and tried to finish crafting the text message she’d been working on for what felt like all day. “You have until Monday.”

“I heard you gave out extensions today.”

Ignoring her distracted glance, he took the seat across from the desk. He watched her furrow and erase whatever she was attempting to do on her phone.

“And you had class outside,” he asked, cocking his head slightly. Still, he didn’t get an answer, but he watched the smile on his colleague’s lips and he rolled his eyes. “Your sister’s pregnant.” Nothing. “Hey. What’s gotten into you today?” he asked, leaning forward and waving a hand in front of Lexa’s face.

“When did you get here?” she asked, chuckling as she pushed up her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Lexa shook her head and gave up, exiting her phone. “What can I do for you?”

“Does this have something to do with the dates you’ve gone on?” Bellamy teased.

“What?” she balked, electrocuted by the knowledge.

“You’ve got the same I’ve-just-gotten-a-good-lay face as your sister. And your mood is strange.”

“First, gross. Second, no. Third, I’ve doubt you’ve ever gotten that face out of anyone.”

“Look at you!” he chuckled as she crossed her arms, uncrossed them, picked up a pen, fiddled with it, growing anxious. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No…” she shrugged, picking up her phone again. “Yes.”

“I need to know more right now.”

“There’s nothing to know. A great first date, and I left her at her house,” Lexa babbled, waving her hand.

“So just a kiss?”

“I didn’t say that,” she smirked. “But it was nice. And then we went to a movie last week. And we had breakfast yesterday morning.”

“Okay.”

“And things are good. But she invited me to her place and I don’t… I mean. It means… you know.”

“I thought you already…”

“She has a… colorful job, and I’m not sure I’m interesting enough. She’s used to more than… this,” Lexa shrugged, motioning to herself.

“Well, that’s hard to believe. You’re so spicy.”

“I have class in an hour.”

“What are you texting her?” Bellamy ignored it and leaned over the desk.

“Nothing.”

“What did she text you?”

“Stop! I can do it!”

Bellamy made his way around the desk and leaned on the chair, attempting to read whatever was on the screen. All that he earned was a shove, though it did not deter him at all.

“Oh my goodness, she is out of your league,” Bellamy whistled as he managed to grab the phone.

Lexa tried to grab the phone but failed as Bellamy scrolled through. She marveled at her ability to go from a great day to fighting a grown man to give back her phone because she had a crush on someone.

Holding his arm out and keeping the shorter professor away, Bellamy attempted to type out a response, giving her options. All he earned in return was snarls and complaints.

“Am I interrupting?” a voice appeared at the door, and the two adult toddlers froze like siblings when mom returned.

They were stuck in place until they weren’t. It took just a second for them to pull apart and blush knowingly. Lexa cleared her throat and snatched her phone from her friend while he grinned, huge and toothy at her blush.

“I never would have guessed the history game to be so exciting.”

“It’s not… he’s… I was just…. We… There was a bug,” Lexa decided, lying as smoothly as she was capable, clearly missing the mark.

“Sure. A bug,” Bellamy agreed.

They all looked at each other, none of them knowing quite where to go after the moment encountered. Bellamy elbowed Lexa slightly and nudged his head at the newest guest.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Clarke, this is Bellamy. He’s a professor of early cultures, primarily Athenian culture.”

“That sounds exciting,” she offered politely as she took a few steps to shake his hand.

“Bellamy, this is Clarke. I… am… consulting. Consulting on her art project,” Lexa remembered, offering it quickly, distracted by blue eyes and those lips.

“That sounds even more exciting. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Bellamy welcomed the guest. “Lexa won’t stop talking about you. It’s nice to put a name to a face. Ouch,” he grunted as his friend stomped on his foot.

“Well, I just stopped by to drop off that book you lent me while I was in the neighborhood,” Clarke offered. “I have to run over to work for a few hours.”

“Where do you work?”

Lexa felt her stomach flip when Clarke looked at her and didn’t miss a beat.

“Clyde’s, over on Adams Street.”

“That’s the… oh. Ouch!” he grunted again.

“That’s the place,” she agreed. “I really have to go. See you tonight, right?”

“Definitely,” Lexa nodded quickly. She earned a small peck on her cheek and blushed at the display.

“I’ll see you around seven,” Clarke promised. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Bellamy.”

“You too.”

“Bye,” Lexa sighed, earning a wave at the door.

There was a long, long stretch of quiet, until the ding of the elevator could be heard, until all else was deadly still. Lexa braced for it, and inevitably it came.

“You’re dating a stripper?” Bellamy asked, each word measured and more excited than the last until they formed an exciting sentence for him.

“Bartender…” Lexa corrected, taking her seat and organizing her already organized desk just to keep her hands busy. “Who sometimes dances.”

“No wonder you’re walking around like you just snorted rainbows. I’d be in a great mood too if I was dating her.”

“Watch it.”

“I mean it purely respectfully,” he held up his hands in peace.

“Sounds like it,” she snorted. “You know what, I don’t have to explain it to you. She’s a stripper. So what? It’s a perfectly legal way to make money.”

“It certainly is,” he agreed again.

“And she’s wonderful, and that’s all you need to know.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Your tone was.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy relented. “No tone.”

They stood on opposite sides of the office for a moment, Lexa oddly defensive in ways she never understood or experienced before, realizing that much of her hearing of tones came from her own thoughts and nerves on the topic.

“She seemed nice.”

“She is.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy,” Bellamy offered genuinely. “You seem really excited, and I think it’s good.”

“Thanks,” she sighed, relaxing slightly before flopping in her chair.

“Leave it to you to go to a strip club and fall in love,” he shook his head as he made his way toward the door.

Lexa leaned back and swirled slightly at her desk before smiling at the observation.

* * *

The night was busy, and Clarke was absolutely exhausted just three hours into her shift. Two bachelor parties and a college football game led to too many bodies, too many drunks, and plenty of money being shoved around in all directions. The music blared and the show went on, allowing a lull where she could catch her breath.

“I’m going to die,” Raven fanned herself as she leaned against the back of the bar. “This is insane.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m going to walk out of here with over a thousand dollars. I’m more alive than ever before.”

“You’re insufferable lately,” the bartender rolled her eyes and chugged cold water.

“What do you mean?” Clarke chuckled, making another round of drinks.

“You’re so positive. It’s disgusting.”

“I can’t help it. Life is good.”

From her spot, Raven shook her head and crossed her arms at the notion. It wasn’t that it was very anti-Clarke to be hopeful or happy, but that it was so painfully obvious what was causing it. The money was nice, but not everything. Work certainly wasn’t joy inspiring. All that remained was the dorky professor who Raven was almost certain couldn’t form words properly.

“We work in a strip club, you dance when your student loans are due, and I drank expired milk this morning.”

“Things are looking up.”

“Expired by three weeks.”

Shaking her head, Clarke made another drink, smiling and making small talk for a moment with a small gaggle of guys.

“You know what? I like my job well enough. Pays good. And I have one more semester until I’m done.”

“Plus the naughty professor,” Raven needled.

“It’s just been a couple dates,” Clarke shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear and grabbing a drink herself. “I only seem to find assholes to date working here, but she’s different.”

“Yeah, she’s mute.”

“No, she talks.”

“Sure sure.”

“I mean it,” Clarke promised. “She’s sweet and smart and I can’t believe I met her here.”

“Just be careful. Like you said. Anyone we meet here turns out to be assholes.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and sighed before watching the lights and show. It was nice and life was good and not even Ravens cautionary tale could stop her from feeling so optimistic. Lexa wasn’t like any of the people she’d been with, nor was she like a sleazeball who hit on her at work, or even worse, the people who bolted when they found out where she worked. Lexa was genuine and boring and oddly brazen and funny.

She wasn’t deterred.

The night continued and the evening waged. There was a kind of trance Clarke found herself going into when she was stuck behind the bar. It was easy, and it was how she got through the boring nights.

And though it was late, she smiled when she crawled into bed and got an incoherent message from a sleepy professor.

* * *

“Just an appearance,” Lexa assured her date, though it was mostly for herself. “I hate these things.”

“I could tell,” Clarke chuckled slightly, watching as the professor adjusted the tuck of her shirt once again before lifting her chin and working hard on the tie. “Let me.”

Frazzled, Lexa gave in and turned around, tilting her chin and allowing the blonde to go to work on making her presentable. She flexed her palms and played with her fingers anxiously. The faculty mixer was just the preamble for the conference, a little, informal gathering of participants and a few departments to celebrate. To Lexa, it was a death sentence comprised of small talk and gassy department heads who refused to retire.

“You look very nice,” Lexa offered.

“We’ll go and schmooze for a bit and then I’m stealing you for dart night at the Ox. We have to hold my reigning title of Thursday Evening Empress.”

“I’m terrible at darts.”

“Yeah, but you can keep buying me drinks while I win for us,” Clarke smiled and smoothed Lexa’s shoulders.

“Perfect.”

“See? Not terrible.”

“This is going to be the worst,” Lexa groaned and leaned her forehead on Clarke’s shoulder.

“I’m sure we can have fun. Want to make out in a closet or something?”

“We can do that?”

“Hell yeah we can. We’re adults.”

Standing up straight once again, Lexa furrowed and stared at her girlfriend of just a few months, already blown away by how smart she was turning out to be. Skeptically, she appraised to see if the twinkle in the blue eyes was a warning or a promise.

“Alright. Let’s do that,” the professor agreed, earning a smile with her serious demeanor and resignation.

“Perfect.”


	3. Chapter 3

The music puslated and swelled in the club. From all directions, noise infiltrated everything, and the lights seemed to blind and not exist. Different colors flashed and were everywhere, while the smell of alcohol seemed to be permanently attached to the air.

“There you go,” Anya smiled, tilting the shot glass up. “Bottoms up.”

All her sister could do was hiss after finishing the tequila. She shook her head and shivered, already buzzed enough.

“She never gets better at it,” Bellamy chuckled, finishing the rest of his beer.

“Guys, leave her alone,” a sweet, savior of a voice slid back into the booth, her hand automatically sliding to Lexa’s thigh. “Happy Birthday, love.”

Beaming and a little drunk, Lexa smiled and accepted a kiss on her cheek as her girlfriend snuggled closer and handed her a beer. It’d been a long two years since the fateful night when she could barely speak because a pretty girl gave her the best, and only, lap dance of her life.

Two years, and Clarke was finishing up her degree, and finishing up her comic, while Lexa worked just as hard on her research and papers. They were renowned for their adorableness and sickening displays of love. They were whispered about as the professor and the stripper, which sounded much more exciting than they actually were. Most of the time, they fell asleep watching movies on the couch.

“Are you having a good time?”

“Mmhmm,” Lexa hummed, dopey and in love.

“This is kind of our anniversary, if you think about it.”

“I thought we settled on next month, when you seduced me in my office.”

“But I gave you a great lap dance that should be given it’s own anniversary?”

“Does that mean I get another?”

It was half a joke and very very serious. Lexa smiled through it and then gulped at the idea of it. She never liked to ask, but she enjoyed it. She enjoyed being near Clarke in general, but yeah, she wasn’t about to turn this away.

“I do like your birthday hat,” Clarke grinned and rubbed a little higher on her thigh, causing Lexa to shift.

Two years and Lexa still felt like she was defending Clarke sometimes, but in reality, Clarke made more money than her and was in much better shape, and was a much better person in general, and so it felt stupid to feel the need to defend her. But Lexa did anyway, nearly punching another professor over the mere suggestion that he’d go to the club just to see Clarke.

The memory came back, and Lexa felt this tinge of jealousy in her lungs despite their current location and position.

“Can we go home?” Lexa whispered as her sister and future brother-in-law whistled as another set started a few feet away. “I want to fuck you right now.”

Speechless, Clarke stared, open mouth at her girlfriend. She felt herself clench at the thought of it and how sudden this possessive and assertive Lexa appeared at the mere suggestion of a birthday hat.

“Well,” she sighed before downing the rest of her drink, “It is your birthday.”

All Lexa did was nod and polish off her own as well before setting it down with a contented clunk and a smug nod.

“Hey, Anya,” she yelped over the music, a hiccup punctuating the statement. Her sister turned around at her request. “We’re going to leave.”

“You can’t leave! This is your birthday!”

“I want to go have sex with Clarke.”

“Ew, Lex, seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” Lexa nodded as she shuffled to get out of the booth. “That’s all I want to do. That’s all I really ever want to do. I love it when she let’s me–”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough out of you, tiger,” Clarke interrupted, quickly clamping her hand over the professor’s mouth. “Couldn’t get a word out of you the first time I met you, and now I can’t get you to hush.”

Confused by the censorship, drunk Lexa furrowed her brow and looked at her girlfriend with pitiful eyes.

“But it’s true! You said you love it when I –”

A hand went back over her mouth.

“Note to self,” Bellamy winced. “Never give Lexa tequila.”

“You did this to yourself,” Clarke shrugged, pushing Lexa along. “Let’s go, Birthday Girl. TIme to go to bed.”

“Bed her well, m’lady,” he held up his glass in a salute, earning an attempt at a high five from his friend and a glare from ehr better half. “Oof,” he grunted as Anya smacked his chest.

“Don’t encourage her,” Anya rolled her eyes.

From their spot at the table, they watched Lexa stumble slightly, her arm around Clarke’s shoulder for support as they wove through the crowd and disappeared into the night. Anya smiled to herself because her sister was someone who was happy, and she never thought she’d see the day when that happened.

“Our little girl’s all grown up,” Bellamy smiled and kissed his wife’s temple. “Got herself her own stripper and everything.” He grunted once more as he earned another elbow.

* * *

“Oh, fuck,” Clarke moaned, her hips working in overtime.

Hands rooted on either side of Lexa’s head, she pushed into her fingers as much as she could. It just felt so good, and there were lips now on her neck, and the shiver started in her lower spine until it was all too much.

“Please please please please please,” she murmured, close. Closer than close.

There was this thing Clarke did, where she just absolutely lost herself. She was present in the most truest of sense, she was living for every second, and focused on the task at hand, and Lexa couldn’t hold on tight enough, she couldn’t move fast enough, she could do anything enough, she felt. But she damn well tried her best.

Lexa felt clenching, and she moaned herself as Clarke’s breathing grew hot on her neck.

“I love you,” Lexa whispered as Clarke came around her fingers, her hands digging into her shoulders, her cheek on her cheek.

Clarke slumped there after a few seconds of the waves that came with feeling so good and the real world came back into view. Completely boneless, Clarke shifted only as Lexa withdrew her fingers and wrapped her arms around her.

“Did I just hallucinate, or did you just say that you loved me?”

Still completely blanketing the professor beneath her, Clarke felt her own heart beating just as wildly as Lexa’s. Lips kissed the crown of her head and a nose hid there, as if deciding.

“Um, yeah?”

“The first time you told me you loved me was as I came on top of you.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to get on top of me so I can tell you, too?”

“You don’t have to say it,” Lexa answered quickly, all of the nerves and anxieties about letting those words pop out bubbling forward. “I didn’t mean to just– I mean I meant it, I would want to say it at a better– there is no good– what I mean to say, is that I said it–”

“I love you, too,” Clarke whispered, stretching only to kiss just below Lexa’s jaw.

Hands slid around her neck and shoulders and held her close, played with the sweat-curled ends of the short hairs at the nape of her neck. Despite the words and the thoughts, Lexa felt her heart skip and calm as those words came out of Clarke’s mouth. She hadn’t ever mean to say them, but she felt them, and she hoped she felt the same.

“You could have just said that sooner.”

“I could have,” she yawned, “But then you wouldn’t love me as much as you do.”

The End.


End file.
